


Filthy Habits

by improfem



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, KonMari | Marie Kondo's Tidying Method, M/M, Podfic Welcome, Transformative Works Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 15:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/improfem/pseuds/improfem
Summary: Self-help books… had that been one of his inventions? Or just one he’d taken credit for? Sometimes it was hard to keep track. In any case, humans always found their ways to make any demonic invention even more insidious. Attacking each other on Twitter over what you were or weren’t ‘allowed’ to do according to some self-appointed guru’s life philosophy came to mind.An idea tugged at the corner of his mind, and as was his custom, Crowley immediately put it into words. Start thinking things through, and every bad idea loses half the appeal.“So.” He tried his best to sound nonchalant, “Since you love this woman so much, is today the day I finally introduce you to the meaning of the phrase ‘Netflix and Chill’?”





	Filthy Habits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gorillazgal86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/gifts).

> I do not take constructive criticism on this one, because honeslty, I think if we start taking this seriously, it can only go downhill from there. Other comments are welcome as always. (And feel free to tell me if you spot any errors, because this has not been betaed.)
> 
> Not sure if this counts as M, technically, but since there is definitely something sexual going on there, rating this way just to be sure.

„It really is rather lovely, my dear, this notion of only holding on to material objects if they bring you joy. Now, granted, I know that my home is not exactly what most people would describe as terribly organized –“

Crowley snorted, but Aziraphale carried on, unfazed.

“but I do believe that this is remarkably close to the relationship I’ve always had to material objects. There are so many lovely inventions humans have come up with in their day, and of course, many of them become obsolete with time, so you let them go. But there will always be those worth keeping around, and I really do not see why we should throw them out, simply to follow some transient fashion.”

Crowley eyed the angel up and down, from his immaculately preserved, but clearly worn brown leather shoes to his, at the moment, rather self-satisified smile, and smirked.

“Clearly.”

Self-help books… had that been one of his inventions? Or just one he’d taken credit for? Sometimes it was hard to keep track. In any case, humans always found their ways to make any demonic invention even more insidious. Attacking each other on Twitter over what you were or weren’t ‘allowed’ to do according to some self-appointed guru’s life philosophy came to mind.

An idea tugged at the corner of his mind, and as was his custom, Crowley immediately put it into words. Start thinking things through, and every bad idea loses half the appeal.

“So.” He tried his best to sound nonchalant, “Since you love this woman so much, is today the day I finally introduce you to the meaning of the phrase ‘Netflix and Chill’?”

Aziraphale slowed down, and eyed him suspiciously. “I can’t tell if you are making fun of me for not knowing what that is, or by pretending I have missed some new human trend that you’ve just made up. I do not recognize either of those words.”

Finally allowing himself to laugh, Crowley clapped his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Oh, it’s a thing, angel. You’ll see. Come on, we’ll get some takeout on the way.”

~~

True to form, it had only taken about two hours for Crowley to regret every life decision that had led him to this point. Yes, perhaps including the invention of self-help books, should that have been his after all.

“You know, Crowley,” Aziraphale had announced, thoughtfully, after watching one episode of _Tidying up with Marie Kondo_, “I do understand the Netflix part of your invitation, now. But how about… what was it that you had added? Chill?”

Oh, bless it. Somehow, embarrassing the angel by explaining the double entendres of modern slang had seemed a lot funnier in the cold light of day, and under the watchful eyes of the ducks of St. James’ Park. Now, with Aziraphale beaming happily at him over a mountain of empty takeout containers, it seemed a lot harder to deny that Crowley very much wouldn’t mind following through on his promise to introduce him to the _full_ meaning of the phrase.

He forced himself to avert his gaze and swallow, before he answered.

“Ah, ‘s nothing, angel… just means. You know.” A noncommittal wave of his hand did not seem enough to satisfy Aziraphale, who still kept his eyes questioningly fixed on his face. Crowley cleared his throat. “Means make yourself comfortable.”

How embarrassingly undemonic, not even a proper lie.

“Oh!” Aziraphale beamed. “Well, in that case…” He cast his eyes around the room. With a flick of his fingers, the empty containers disappeared, and the used plates and cutlery reappeared next to the kitchen sink, drying on the dishrack. “We should find some way to put all these good ideas into practice. Now, I know you do not exactly own many things… but you do have a fair amount of clothes. Maybe we should reorganize those.”

Crowley nearly spit out his wine.

Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t had it in him to resist Aziraphale’s wishes, and so, another three hours and a fair number of episodes later, Crowley found himself sitting in the middle of his enormous bed, faced with a very intent-looking angel and surrounded by veritable heaps of neatly folded clothing.

When he had, on occasion, imagined bringing Aziraphale here (well, alright, it had been much more than a few occasions), this scenario had gone very differently. There’d been a lot less clothes, for one. In every sense of the word.

“This does not spark joy,” he muttered darkly to himself, glaring at a row of tightly rolled jeans.

Aziraphale, who had discarded his jacket at some point, and rolled up his sleeves (a gesture which had made Crowley very glad that he did not actually require his heart to be beating in a humanly healthy rhythm), looked up from the socks he was folding.

“What was that?”

Crowley pushed himself off the bed, and reached for the jeans, to sort them back into his drawers.

“Nothing.”

The angel hummed happily and went back to his task. It did not take him long, however, to finish the small heap of socks in front of him, and upon inspection, he realised there were no more pieces to be re-ordered.

“Well, I suppose… that was all, then.” Aziraphale sounded almost disappointed, but quickly recovered, a satisfied smile spreading over his face. “What a marvellous idea, my dear. This really was a most enjoyable evening, although I did not imagine it would involve getting my hands on your underwear. I do hope that did not make you uncomfortable?”

Oh, honestly. Seriously? _Seriously?_

Crowley had to use a significant amount of self-control to form an intelligible answer.

“Ngk.”

Well, scratch that. An answer. Although it probably wouldn’t help to leave it at that, Aziraphale would only take this as a prompt to question him further.

“Nah… ‘s – ‘s fine. Nothing you haven’t seen and taken a bath with before, eh?”

Okay, that definitely did not come out well. Right. Time to wrap up the evening.

“Tell you what, angel. It’s getting late. I’ll put this stuff away… you mind taking a taxi home, just for today?”

Somehow, Aziraphale appeared disappointed, but if that was the case, he didn’t say. Instead, he gave a polite nod, and scrambled to his feet.

“Yes, of course. I have imposed on your hospitality rather a lot, today. Well. Jolly good, I should… thank you. For a lovely evening. I’ll… see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow, angel. Have a good night.”

~~

There were not many obstacles at the prospect of which Anthony J. Crowley considered admitting defeat. When faced with the option of remaining stuck in a London traffic jam, or driving through the flaming wall of the M25, for instance, he had only paused for a second before putting his foot on the gas.

When faced with the necessity of touching stacks of his own underwear, diligently re-folded by a very sweet and very well-meaning angel, however, he found himself immobilised for a good twenty minutes. He’d put everything else away – careful not to imagine the angel’s fingers brushing over the shoulder seams of his t-shirts, the collar of his button-downs, and most certainly not the parts of his body those would eventually touch. He’d returned to the living room, emptied the remaining bottle of wine, and been very careful not to come anywhere near the slight indentation Aziraphale had left on the couch.

Running out of excuses, he’d returned to the bedroom and reluctantly reached out to retrieve a stack of underpants from the middle of the bed.

“Oh, what an unusual material,” Aziraphale had commented, and as the words echoed through his mind again, Crowley found himself grinding his teeth together. It wasn’t of course, unless all the underwear you were accustomed to was made of starchy, white cotton. Then, Crowley supposed, black silk might count as unusual.

_For fucks sake. _

He’d thought he had done his best not to watch Aziraphale too closely, before, but now, with his own fingertips barely brushing the fabric, he found his mind returning to the image of the angel curiously, admiringly running the briefs through his fingers. “It feels quite nice. Maybe I should give this a try some time.”

Satan’s left buttcheek (yes, good, that was a helpful image right now), how had he managed not to discorporate earlier?

At the mere memory, Crowley could feel his jeans growing tighter, and offered a silent prayer to whatever entity had spared him the embarrassment of this happening while Aziraphale was still around to see it.

_Oh, fuck it. _

Aziraphale would never know. So what if he allowed himself a wank at the end of the night, to relieve the tension? There were worse things to get off on. Surely.

Putting the underwear down once more, Crowley quickly stripped off his shirt, and dropped his jeans on the floor. He sank down on the bed, and reached for the folded underwear again, no longer reluctant to touch where Aziraphale’s fingers had been so shortly before.

Those _fingers_… with their immaculately trimmed nails, their inhumanly soft skin, and the slightest hint of a callous where the angel used them to grip his ridiculously, adorably outdated fountain pen.

Crowley moaned and closed his eyes, palming himself through the remaining layer of his briefs and imagining a very different set of fingers. Much shorter, so much warmer, and eagerly exploring his growing erection.

~~

He could not have said how much time had passed, when the soft click of his bedroom door pulled him back to reality. Judging by the state of his bedsheets, crumpled and damp under his equally messy body, a significant amount.

“Oh, my.” Horrified, Crowleys eyes snapped open to land on Aziraphale’s blushing face. The angel’s eyes darted quickly around the room, taking in the chaos of very much no longer folded underwear strewn across the bed, and the wet patches in which the sheets clung to the mattress underneath.

The demon lunged for his blanket, desperate to hide at least some part of the incriminating scene, and frantically searching for words that might explain, or at least excuse…

Before he could find them, though, Aziraphale’s face lit up with a grin, a distinctly bastardly spark igniting in his eyes.

“Oh dear, you should have said something. I _do_ love mess.”

**Author's Note:**

> Want to comment, but not sure what to say?   
I welcome any kind of comment – short sentences or emojis as much as long lists of copied sentences you liked with or without your reaction, and of COURSE long rants or analyses on what you liked. Constructive criticism is also always appreciated!  
If you’re stuck on what to say, the Long Live Feedback comment builder is a neat tool. It exists as either a [Google sheet](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1lOqWGDNquHxr23l84ASKn-vdSLFrHop4giVOYDkKnWI/edit#gid=547831518) or an [excel sheet](https://onedrive.live.com/view.aspx?resid=5483CD320B0B1070!128&ithint=file%2cxlsx&authkey=!AH0iTc9X_UtUzCE), both of which help you generate comments that express what you liked about a story without you having to find or type the words. Comments can be customised or fully generated by the tool, and I promise, as your author, I will love you for commenting more frequently!


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